Fragile
by charlotteschaos
Summary: The final battle is approaching and Harry just wants Draco to promise him one simple thing: To go on without him.


"Draco?"

"What?"

"Do you want children?"

Most boys got to enjoy their climax, do a bit of cuddling and then rolled over to go to sleep. Draco Malfoy, who's waning erection was slowly inching its spent way out of Harry Potter, was not one of those boys.

"Harry, I am a child."

"You're 17," Harry reminded him quietly, his breath warming the side of Draco's neck where he lay over the pale blonde still gasping for hair. Their bodies were slick with sweat and their chests were squishily mashing Harry's emissions from their congress.

"You have me there."

"Well, what about the future? Do you want kids?"

"Harry... always you with the questions."

"I'm thinking ahead."

"To what?" Draco quizzed.

"Well, you're the heir of Malfoy..."

"Again, you have me."

"And an heir would be expected to have children..." Harry prodded.

It wasn't that Draco didn't see where he was going; it was just that a 17 year old in afterglow didn't particularly enjoy this line of questioning. He sighed in reply.

"We're both boys," Harry continued.

"Well spotted, Harry," Draco said as he shifted his hips back and his flaccid meat slapped down against his thigh as he winced at the sensitive tissue roughing about like that.

Harry likewise winced as he felt the boy evacuate him and the sluice of Draco's leavings started to slip down his inner walls. "So what are you going to do?"

Leaning up to kiss Harry's forehead, his lips brushed the roughness of the lightning bolt scar on the Gryffindor's naked face and slowly rolled him to the side. "I'm going to have a shower."

"Draco!" Harry's voice held a warning to it. His hand reached out to grip Draco's slender wrist. "What are you going to do about children? Do you want them?"

"Do you want them?"

"Yes."

"Then I want them," Draco assured him and then pulled back from the four-poster bed. All at once, given his intention to have a shower, the Room of Requirement provided a bathroom and the light from the open door brightened the otherwise candle lit room.

"Don't placate me, Draco."

"Then don't ask questions that make me have to placate you," he snapped back, steadily feeling his anger rise.

"Look I might not have a future! The war is coming and...and..."

Draco's grey eyes flashed as he stooped down to scoop up his abandoned uniform. "Oh no. No. Not again. I will not hear any more from the Boy Who's Going To Die!" he quipped.

"Listen to me!" Harry said as he scrambled up off of the bed to tear after Draco who was making decent headway to the bathroom. Shoving him against the wall, Harry took up both of Draco's frail wrists and slammed them up against the stone wall as the Slytherin tried desperately to wriggle away. Already his eyes were watering.

"Stop it! Don't even start!" he hissed. His anger coiled up in his stomach even as the misery of anticipatory loss made his eyes prickle with grief.

"I may not make it!" Harry insisted, gazing deep into Draco's eyes. "You have to be prepared!"

"You make it out by the skin of your teeth every year! It's like an extreme final exam. Don't even... don't plan on dying, Harry! You've already resigned yourself to it, I see it in your head when we practice Occlumency!" he fought back.

Harry refused to listen or take heed. "You have to go on, Draco. For me. You have to have kids and a family and the normal life I never had! You have to do this for me!"

"What if I'm the one who dies?"

"Then... then..."

Taking his moment at Harry's indecision, Draco shoved him off of him and fled to the bathroom, slamming the door. Harry was hot on his heels and slammed himself against the door.

"Draco! Promise! You have to promise me!" he shouted at the door as he banged on it.

To drown out the noise, Draco went to the shower and heaved the faucets at full blast. Still he heard the pounding, knew the request and knew in his heart of hearts that he should promise Potter. Promise him anything. He loved him. He would do anything for him. Anything but entertain the notion of his death or plan for a time beyond it.

* * *

Legilimency, luck and Apparition were all that kept Draco alive thus far. Quick as he and the others of the Order of the Phoenix were, they were mostly comprised of students and he watched many fall. No matter where Draco Apparated in the confusion of the clearing, he always kept a careful eye on Harry, Dumbledore and, of course, Voldemort.

The Dark Lord stood tall amongst the beams of green light that had cut down the front lines of the Order as if they were blades of grass under a lawnmowers casual ease. Draco barely missed Dolohov's mysterious purple flame hex with a quick and instinctual Apparation.

"Seamus!" Draco barked out too late as he watched the boy fall prey to another casting of Dolohov's mysterious hex.

Dolohov gave a yelp of victory cut short by Draco's own casting of the Death Curse and his grey eyes glared savagely as the skeletal man sank to the ground. His head turned to glimpse Harry again who seemed to be finally closing in on Voldemort.

Death Eaters fell around the dark wizard and others scattered in retreat. Firing off stunning spells at the hurried masked and cloaked figures, Draco observed that the Order had Voldemort's minions on the defensive. The tide was turning on the battle and the Order had clinched it. Seeing the menacing figures being hit with multiple stunners from the surviving Order members gave Draco a grim satisfaction resulting in a grimaced sneer that played over his features.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a flash of greenish yellow light and he turned to see the wands of his lover and the Dark Lord seeming to battle on their own. Harry stood forward, intense and proud. The force of his love, strength and need to survive colored his ruddy face with a wide scowl as he put everything he had, emotion, memories and fear into his hex.

Voldemort at first wore the same expression, but as time wore on, the man quailed, his eyes widened in terror and soon the light overcame him. Harry stepped forward, shoving his wand harder into the incantation, inflicting his will hard into it, brooking no argument. And after a long and terrifying moment, victory seemed to be his. The light died down and Voldemort crumpled to the ground.

A beat just before victory could be declared, a pulse backfired from Harry's wand causing the Gryffindor to pull his hands over his head. With a loud crack, Draco Apparated immediately in front of his lover, spurring others to do the same. Harry screamed and clutched at his head, his scar glowed chartreuse and angry under his hand. Lifting his emerald eyes up to Draco, their gaze met and Draco knew.

Perhaps it was the Legilimency; perhaps it was their closeness, or perhaps something obvious that everyone should have figured out from the start presented itself to Draco. The point of the war, the battle, it wasn't about killing Harry. It was about Harry killing Voldemort. Opening the doorway to what the scar already represented: Voldemort's way of possessing his new vessel. In other words, Harry was no longer alone in his own mind.

Harry was fighting, but he was fighting a losing battle. The scar imprinted the intention; the maliciousness of Harry's murdering of Voldemort, although it had been in battle and self-defense, had still opened the floodgates. The boy he loved was turning into something horrible and evil and wrong. It wasn't what Harry would want. Though the boy was still inside of the body, Draco knew that Harry could not be made to suffer this, that his body could not be used for Voldemort's nefarious means. It took everything Draco had to raise his wand and point it towards that familiar face. Members of the Order squalled in protest; their eyes wide and mouths were agape in incredulity at Draco's seeming betrayal.

Turning his head upwards, Harry looked at Draco, his eyes flexed in misery and pain. His mouth curved awkwardly, forming words...or incantations?

Goodbye. I love you, Draco. I'm sorry. Goodbye.

"Avada Kedavra."

But the words didn't come from Draco's mouth. The green light came from Harry's own wand and encased the Gryffindor. Like so many Draco had seen that day, his precious remains slipped to the ground. The pale boy sank with him and quickly covered the hero's body with his own. It was hopeless, Harry was gone, and deep down Draco knew it. But still he wrapped his arms around Harry, clinging to his lifeless corpse and begged.

"No Harry, please don't do this, don't do this! Come back to me, Harry, please. You were right. I wasn't ready. I can't... I can't go on. Please don't do this!" he whispered against his still warm ear. His hand moved silkily up to caress the nape of his neck, sliding through the wiry brush of hair.

He still smelled like Harry, the almost musty smell of clothes he probably should've washed mixed with soap and perspiration. But now it was starting to taint with the sickly sweet smell of death. Draco's face was wet with tears he could barely recall beginning to shed. They pooled in the dip of Harry's paling neck as Draco pressed kisses against Harry's cheek and jaw line.

"Draco."

"Harry, come back. Come back. I can't! I can't do this without you! Oh God. Oh Merlin!" Draco's stomach clenched as he slipped his hand down from Harry's hair down his shoulder and arm to his hand. Entwining his fingers with Harry's. The flesh of the still Gryffindor was yellowing as the blood drained down to the bottom of his body, gravity having its way with his veins and arteries that no were no longer driven by the pumping of his heart.

"Draco."

Giving himself over to sobs, Draco rested his head against the silenced chest, listening for a heartbeat that would never start again. He squeezed Harry's cooling body tightly to him. "No. No. No. No. Harry. No."

Gently, Charlie Weasley moved to his knees and hooked his arm around Draco's waist and pulled him away. The Slytherin kicked and shrieked in protest as the dragon-tamer clung hard to the flailing blonde waif. The war was over. They'd won. The rest of the Order gathered around the fallen boy's body in mourning and indecision on what exactly to say or do as Charlie struggled to contain Draco's growing hysteria.

* * *

"So you never loved mom?" Draco's son Ursius asked.

"Of course I love her," Draco said after taking a moment to think about what his progeny was asking somberly.

"But you've never been in love with her," Ursius pointed out as he looked down again at the picture of his father and the famous Harry Potter. They were entangled in what appeared to be a rather passionate embrace, snogging and giggling as if they weren't doomed.

No, the seventeen-year-old boys in that picture appeared to not have a care in the world. It was taken mere days before the end of the world as Draco knew it was to happen. He and Harry had never been completely out, which made it easier for the Potter worshippers to sweep Draco under the rug. Some of the Wizarding world had even vilified him; creating elaborate conspiracies that Malfoy had some sort of hand in Harry's undoing and mystifying suicide.

But Draco knew the truth. Harry did it to save him. He saved Draco from the utter self-loathing of having to put his lover down. To rescue Draco from being shut away in Azkaban for Harry's murder. Harry wanted Draco to have a life. This life. This unbearable-without-him life that Draco was leading.

"No. I've never been in love with anyone other than him. He-" How did you explain to your son and heir that your life was a sham? That while you desperately loved your son, it wasn't the life you would have chosen for yourself. "He was everything to me. To an extent he still is. I appreciate your mother, and I love her for her compassion and understanding for me. And most of all I love her for making you."

Ursius looked slightly less than consoled. While he understood the words that came out of his mouth, he had never felt so unwanted and burdensome in his life. His lips smacked slightly as he pressed them together and then let them puff back out in thought.

Draco closed his tired and heavy eyes. It wasn't a surprise that he was here in St. Mungo's, laying on what was likely to be his deathbed after an ambush on his own property. Both sides had not taken kindly to him after the war. The only thing truly surprising about it was how long it had taken for someone to exact their revenge. Still he didn't know who'd done it. All that anyone knew was that the hex was obscure, painful and lethal. The hexer had done their research.

Taking comfort in the fact that his now 23-year-old married son likely didn't need him as he would have as a child, Draco was in all honesty, ready to pass on. Save for this. Save for the telling his son the truth.

"So if he hadn't died..." Ursius pressed.

"I would not have married your mother, no. Although at the time I was less than concerned about an heir. I was 17 and smitten. I'd considered that we might adopt, however. I wanted an heir. I... I have a belief that souls are brought together for a reason. Had you not been born my son we might have adopted you. You and I would have shared one piece of our lives together no matter what. I couldn't have asked for a better son. I'm so proud of you, and I do love you so much. I don't want you to think that you weren't wanted. You were. I am so thankful for your coming into my life, Ursius. So thankful. You've made it all worthwhile. You are the reason for my going on. In as much as you're my and your mother's son, you're his, too. He died in the hopes of your existing. I want you to remember that," he said as he squeezed his son's hand.

Feeling tears spring to his pale grey eyes, Ursius looked away, in the habit of generations of overwhelmed Malfoys and his eyes fixed on the red hourglass beside the bed. His father's time was running out and the older man was gurgling and choking as he spoke.

"Do you understand?" Draco asked, squeezing his son's hand again.

"I do. I think... I think I do..." Ursius answered. So much, so fast. His father was dying, it was their last few minutes and he was beleaguered. He'd never felt unloved. Never felt as if his father didn't care. His parents were distant towards one another, but he'd had no idea. "I love you, father," he whispered to the elder Malfoy, whose breath was now slowing and becoming more labored as the clock wound down its final count. Grains of sand soundlessly slipped through the tiny neck of the elaborate glass, each fallen speck ebbing Draco further away from consciousness.

"I love you too, Ursius."

* * *

His eyes opened slowly again and a boy was clutching his hand. In all of the world, this one or the next, never had he been so utterly grateful than to see those almond-shaped green eyes, the clunky owl-like round glasses and that wiry, untamable mass of black hair. His own hand was light and youthful against the calloused and tanned one.

"Did you miss me?"

"Not a day went by that I didn't think of you."

"You kept your word."

"To the letter."

"Ursius is beautiful," Harry complimented.

"Of course, he looks just like me."

"You're such an arse. I love you."

"Forever."


End file.
